


Dean and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by Eponin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eponin/pseuds/Eponin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Dean!  We need to be very, very quiet.  We’re hunting poltergeists!”  Sam hissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Started out based on prompts from gardenwaltz: spooky, bunk, lost keys. Then scarlett_o wanted the poltergeist to goose Dean. It kind of snowballed from there. Really. It’s all her fault.
> 
> Beta’d by the incomparable scarlett_o and after_the_light. Thanks guys!

Dean twisted the knob, letting the door swing open so he could peer inside without stepping over the threshold. The house lay dark and quiet; his breath fogged in the cold air.

“Dean! Are we going in?”

Dean jumped at Sam’s shout so close to his ear. The idiot could walk quieter than a fox, but could he shut up? He turned to glare at Sam, but the 15 year old stared into the house, bouncing on his heels in anticipation.

“Shut up, Sammy!” He slapped his brother on the back of the head to emphasize the warning.

Sam ducked away from him, baring his teeth as though he’d bite Dean’s hand if it came close enough.

“Bitch.”

Sam beamed at him and stepped inside, crossing the hall to peer into the room on the right. Dean stepped over the threshold, tangled his boot in the loose carpeting just inside, and flailed his arms wildly, searching for something to break his fall. Sam spun at the loud thump he made when he hit the floor.

“Dean! We need to be very, very quiet. We’re hunting poltergeists!” Sam hissed all this in his best Elmer Fudd imitation, his voice echoing down the empty hall.

Dean stared up at his brother and counted all the ways he could kill him right now. Then he thought about all the ways his father would kill him later and quashed his homicidal impulses.

Sam grinned at him and slipped into the living room. Dean flipped him the bird behind his back and pushed to his feet. He followed, one eye on the room, the other on his brother, as Sam wandered into the room beyond this one, because God knew Dad would string him up if Dean let anything happen to him.

“You sure we’re in the right house, Dean?” Sam called, sticking his head back around the doorjamb. “Because this place should be trashed if there’s a poltergeist here and well… it’s not.” He jerked one thumb over his shoulder to emphasize the statement.

A thump from upstairs drew their gaze and Dean smirked at Sam. “Maybe it just likes the upstairs.” He pushed past Sam, stared at the decorative plates on the walls and the china in the cabinets, and shook his head. Who the hell put plates on a wall?

They climbed the back stairway, guns drawn and held low. On the landing, they stared around at the mess. While the bottom floor had been pristine, this one looked like a category four hurricane had struck.

He stepped forward, cautiously pushing through the outlying mess until he stood in front of Sam. The whole house was silent.

The pinch startled him and he leaped forward, squeaking. He spun around, putting his back to the wall. “Sam! What the fuck?”

Sam stared at him, eyes wide. “What?”

“Why’d you pinch me?”

Sam’s forehead folded into that cute little crease it got when he was confused. “I didn’t pinch you. I haven’t moved!”

And yeah, Sam’s hands still hung at his side. Sneaky bastard.

Sam’s eyes widened and an unholy grin lit up his face. “The poltergeist pinched you, didn’t it?”

Dean narrowed his eyes and pushed off the wall. “You,” he pointed at Sam, “shut up.” He started to turn, then froze when invisible fingers tugged at his belt buckle. His eyes widened and he batted frantically at it, stumbling away until his back hit the wall. “Let go!” he yelped, trying to grasp the formless hand.

Sam stared at him, then at his independently moving belt buckle. He sagged back against the railing, howling with laughter.

“Quit laughing and help me, Sammy!”

Dean fumbled for his gun, not that it would do him any good – not like he could shoot himself. He looked over just in time to see Sam reach back for the railing, unable to hold himself up while giggling. His brother’s eyes widened comically when his hand missed the railing and he tumbled back down the stairs, unable to stop laughing the entire way down.

Dean stopped batting at the hand when it let go of his belt, then reached out frantically, trying to grab anything weighted down when the poltergeist grabbed him by the back of the pants and pulled, dragging him down the hall. It tossed him in one of the rooms, throwing him almost gently onto the bed.

He tucked his shoulder and rolled off the other side, landing on his feet. _Oh shit._ He launched himself over the bed when the door began to shut on its own. He made it back out into the hall, but invisible fingers reached into his pants pocket, copping a feel before extracting his keys and flinging them into the mess.

“Oh, screw this,” Dean muttered, and dove for the stairs.

Sam lay at the bottom, tears running down his cheeks from laughing so hard.

“Let’s go, Sammy,” Dean growled, grabbing Sam under the arm and dragging him down the hall until Sam quit laughing enough to get his feet under him and follow Dean to the back door on his own.

Sam slid down the icy back steps and staggered around the bushes to where they’d parked the car, still laughing like a loon. He sagged up against the Impala and pointed at Dean. “She _likes_ you!” he hooted.

Dean glared. “How do you know-?” He froze. No way was he asking Sam how he knew the poltergeist was a girl. Just…no. He wouldn’t give his brother that much ammunition. He shoved Sam upright. “Just get in the car, dipshit.”

++++++++++

“Dad’s going to kill you.” Sam’s voice sing-songed from the back seat. Hushed giggles floated forward every so often.

“Shut up.”

He’d been the good brother, the _generous_ brother, giving Sam the backseat so he could stretch his freakishly growing legs. Dean hated to admit it, but at the rate Sam was growing, he was going end up taller than him or Dad. It really wasn’t fair.

“He’ll be pissed if you don’t call him and we stay out all night.” Sam kicked the back of the seat for emphasis.

“Shut up!” Dean grated. “Or I’ll sell you to the circus where the clowns live.” He twisted in the seat so he could swat Sam in the stomach. Sam shrieked like a girl and Dean settled back down, crossing his arms over his chest for warmth. Dad didn’t let him out on his own very often much less let him take 15 year old Sam. There was no way he’d call Dad to tell him he’d lost the keys to the Impala to a rampaging poltergeist that had tried to molest him. Especially since the poltergeist was still in the house.

Damned persistent things. Though he had to admit this one was more talented than most, plucking the keys from the inside pocket of his jacket and flinging them somewhere in the maelstrom it had made of the upstairs.

“We’ll go back in the morning, find the keys and banish the damned thing,” Dean continued.

Sam just grunted at him and rolled over on the seat to face away from Dean.

At least this way Dad would only be able to kick his ass for keeping Sam out all night. One thing for certain, though. Dean was going to have to get Dad to teach him how to hotwire the car.

Sam started to snore, curled up smaller than Dean would have thought possible, hands tucked into his armpits for warmth. He reached back and draped the ratty army blanket Dad kept in the footwell over Sam. The silence made him itch, staring at the blackness of the house. The house's blank, darkened windows stared back at him. Dean tapped fingers on the steering wheel in irritation before slouching down in his seat and drifting off to sleep.

A jolt woke him and he bolted upright, gun in hand. He looked around, but the house was silent and nothing was near the car that he could see. When he felt it again, he growled, reached back and swatted Sam. “Quit kicking me, Sammy.”

“Matt, not now,” Sam mumbled before subsiding back to stillness.

Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked. This whole incident was worth it for how much leverage that one line had just given him over Sammy.

He tried settling back in his seat again, but it was too cold and his shivering kept him awake. Screw this,” he muttered, and slipped out of the car. He winced as the door creaked, but Sam never stirred. “Gotta pay more attention than that, Sammy.”

He slipped back up the gravel path towards the back door.

++++++++++

Dean sauntered down the gravel path, whistling and twirling his keys. When he reached the car he grinned at his sleeping brother, flung the door open and dropped heavily into the seat.

He grinned, watching in the rearview mirror when Sam bolted upright as the car rocked wildly under Dean’s weight. His arms flailed at the blanket covering him, batting it away as though it had attacked him. Dean grinned at him triumphantly from the front seat and cranked the ignition.

“Dean?” Sam rubbed his hands across his eyes. “How’d you get the keys?”

Dean smirked and threw the car into reverse. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”


End file.
